


Je suis libre

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Fluff, Found Families, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Bahorel and Grantaire accidentally kidnap a kid. Jehan makes pancakes. Feuilly wears glasses. Gavroche has no clue what he's just stumbled into.





	Je suis libre

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching The Lion King and yeah...

Honestly, Grantaire never would have bothered going out to get drunk, but his lease had expired and he hadn’t gotten a new place yet, and Jehan got upset when he drank in the flat, so now he was bar-hopping with Bahorel to avoid the Puppy Eyes of Doom.

He was not nearly drunk enough yet.

Half an hour later, he was amending that statement as Baz held his hair back in the alley to the side of the bar.

“That’s disgusting,” someone said in the dark.

“Fuck you,” Grantaire replied, very eloquently.

“Who are you?” Bahorel asked, currently the most sensible one between the two of them.

There was a squeak right behind them, and Bahorel whirled around, picking up some kid by the collar. “I didn’t do anything!” he spat.

Baz snorted. “You were going to steal my wallet, don’t deny it.”

The kid huffed and crossed his arms. “Put me down, you big bully, or I’ll scream.”

Grantaire groaned and hobbled away from the puddle of vomit. “Vodka is… very, very bad.”

Baz sighed and put the kid down, but kept his hand in a vicelike grip. “Come on, let’s get home.”

“Hey!” The kid gave a hell of a struggle, Grantaire will give him that.

“You planning on sleeping here?” Baz asked, nodding to the jacket on the ground. “Or do you want to take our other couch?”

“Depends,” the kid snapped, “what’s it cost?”

“Good manners,” Baz said.

The kid stopped moving.

“What’s your name?”

“Gavroche.”

“Gavroche, I’m Bahorel. This motherfucker is Grantaire.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Grantaire laughed. “You caught me,” he slurred. “It’s my – my sneakery. Fuck words.”

Bahorel sighed but somehow got both of them in the car.

“Who are you calling?” Gavroche demanded when Baz pulled out his phone.

“Jehan,” Bahorel said, absentmindedly. “My datemate. They're going to want to feed you, so I figured they’d appreciate a heads-up.”

“Fee,” Grantaire said. “Fee is good, too.”

Gavroche glared. “Exactly how many people are we talking about here?”

Bahorel pulled out of the parking lot sharply. “Seatbelts. Jehan is my datemate, Feuilly is my boyfriend, Grantaire is my best friend. Any other questions?”

Surprisingly, Gavroche didn’t ask anything more. When they arrived at the apartment, he hung back, hiding behind Grantaire.

R snorted and shoved him forward. “Jehan’s not that scary.”

“Oh my god!” A purple blur darted forward and wrapped Gavroche in a hug. “You weren’t joking. Come on, come on, I made soup. I hope you like chicken.”

Gavroche blinked as he was swept into the kitchen and the blur stopped for a moment long enough for him to get a good look.

Jehan swept their braid over their shoulder as they dished up the soup, then sat next to Gavroche as he ate, picking at the thread in their sweater.  “Fee will be back soon,” they said, smiling gently. “He’s doing laundry so we have enough sheets for your bed.”

“Bed?” Gavroche asked.

Jehan smiled and shrugged. “It’s a futon, but, yes.”

Bahorel sat next to him on his other side. “I sent Grantaire to take a shower,” he said. “Where’re your parents, kid?”

Gavroche shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Did you run away?” Jehan asked. “No judgment.” Their smile turned sad. “I wish I’d had the courage to run away from mine.”

Bahorel reached over and held their hand.

Gavroche raised an eyebrow. “Nah, they just left for something and Patron Minette took over the house.”

“Did you say Patron Minette?”

Gavroche looked over to see a very tired man with an armful of sheets and blankets. “Yeah.” He hunched further over his food. “Montparnasse is my babysitter, but he doesn’t care what I do as long as I’m back by the time they are.” He waved his spoon in the air, vaguely threatening. “I don’t like it there, and I’m fine on the streets.”

“Sure, you are,” Bahorel said. “That’s why you tried to steal my wallet.”

“You kidnapped me,” Gavroche shot back.

Feuilly laughed. “Not helping your case, kid.”

Bahorel stood then. “I’m going to check on Grantaire.”

Jehan nodded and followed.

Gavroche raised an eyebrow and moved to sit on the newly made futon. “So, you’re the serial killer, then.”

Feuilly shook his head and moved to a nearby bookshelf, taking out a tattered copy of The Hobbit. He set it in Gavroche’s hands. “Inside back cover.”

Gavroche scowled, then frowned at the list. “This isn’t helping your case,” he said, reading the names and dates.

_Mercier 15/9/1992-12/6/1995_

_Fournier 6/10/1995-23/9/1996_

_Laurent 6/6/1997-1/9/1997_

_Moreaux 30/3/1998-4/2/1999_

_Desjardins 3/11/1999-19/11/1999_

_Girard 7/12/1999-15/1/2000_

_Beaulieu 14/2/2000-25/2/2000_

_Paternoster 23/4/2000-12/9/2000_

And so on and so on until: _Je suis libre. 27/8/2008_

Immediately followed by: _Les Amis de l’ABC 19/1/2012_

Gavroche recognized the list immediately. His younger brothers each had a similar one. “You were a foster kid.”

Feuilly nodded. He pointed to _Girard_. “His daughter wanted a brother for Christmas, then his wife got pregnant.” _Mercier_ , “I don’t remember them. But I thought they loved me.” _Beaulieu_ , “She said she wanted kids, so he got her one for Valentine’s day. They both hated me.” _Moreaux,_ “I loved her. She died.”

“And this one?” Gavroche pointed to the last entry.

Feuilly smiled. “That would be these guys.”

Gavroche passed the book back to him. “My parents are supposed to be back next week.” He burrowed underneath the sheets, curling up in as tight a ball as possible, watching the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Fee sighed and stood, replacing the book. “Give us a chance?” he asked.

“I’ll think about it,” Gavroche said.

In the morning, he woke to the smell of pancakes. Grantaire was snoring.

Gavroche scowled and stalked into the kitchen.

Jehan smiled at him. “Want to help?”

Gavroche shook his head. “Where’s the bathroom?” Jehan told him, and he made sure to lock the door.

When he came back, Feuilly was already heading out the door. He waved. “Sorry, I’ve got an early shift at the café. It’s Jehan’s day off, though. Have fun with them.”

Jehan kissed Feuilly then dished up a stack of pancakes. “What syrup do you want?” they asked.

Gavroche shrugged.

Jehan nodded and winked, taking something absurdly pink out of the fridge. “Strawberry is the best.”

Bahorel woke up next, grabbing a single pancake and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth. “Jehan let you use their strawberry syrup?” he asked in awe.

Jehan smacked him upside the head. “You’re going to be late.” They handed him a packed lunch.

“Right,” Baz said, running out of the apartment. “Tell Grantaire he owes us another application.”

Jehan pressed a kiss to his cheek. “He knows. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye!”

“Bahorel’s a lawyer,” Jehan said, dishing up their own food. “His caseload keeps him busy. Poor thing doesn’t even like it.”

“Then why does he do it?” Gavroche asked, already knowing the answer.

Jehan gave him a look. “You’re smarter than you want me to think.” They smiled. “You’re sneaky, that’s good.”

There was a sound like the dead rising, and then Grantaire stumbled into the small kitchen.

“Morning, dear,” Jehan called. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

Grantaire grumbled his thanks and pulled out a tankard, filling it to the brim with straight black coffee. “Did Baz and I kidnap a kid last night?”

Jehan laughed and gestured to Gavroche. “Indeed. What are your plans for today?”

Grantaire sighed. “I have an interview, and then I’m headed to coffee with Enjolras.”

“A date!”

Gavroche flinched back at Jehan’s sudden pitch.

Grantaire shook his head. “We’re talking about the new flyers. Business only. He hates my guts, remember?”

Jehan snorted and turned to Gavroche. “What you’ll learn soon enough is that E and R can’t stop pining after each other and are totally convinced they don’t deserve each other.”

“Drop it,” Grantaire warned. He raised his arm and sniffed. “Did Baz make me take a shower?”

“Best take another one,” Jehan said, “if you have an apartment interview waiting.”

Grantaire nodded and ran to get ready.

Jehan grinned and leaned over the table. “So. I bet I can kick your ass at Call of Duty.”

Gavroche grinned back, despite himself.

“Are you staying the night again?” Feuilly asked when he came home, looking dead on his feet.

Gavroche killed Jehan’s character and turned to face him, thinking hard. “Yeah, I guess one more night won’t hurt.”

One more night turned into the next night and in the morning, Bahorel took Gavroche for new clothes and a backpack to keep them in. Then that night turned into the rest of the week until Gavroche looked at the calendar and realized his parents were coming back the next day.

Jehan fussed over him, and the others didn’t seem to want him to leave either, but they let him.

“See ya,” Gavroche called.

A month later, Jehan appeared at his doorstep the day after his parents left again. To his surprise, Montparnasse let them in. Jehan smiled and kissed the criminal’s cheek, ignoring his blush. “Ready?”

Gavroche ran to get his backpack. “Ready,” he said, grinning.

Grantaire was still sleeping on the other couch. He ruffled Gavroche’s hair and dealt him into their Go! Fish game.

Feuilly looked over the rim of his glasses, grinned, and returned to his reading, occasionally reading a passage aloud if he found it interesting.

Bahorel laughed and let him look at his cards.

Jehan dished up pancakes.

And Gavroche felt at home.


End file.
